


Let's Talk About Rimming, Baby

by Still_beating_heart



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 5+1 Things, And hopefully we'll all leave here without canon stew poisoning, Because it's Mickey and Ian we are talking about, But I'm not making you eat it, Canon Compliant, Just take a whole pile of the shit stew that canon has served and it's all mentioned here, Learn how to love your ass licking loving husband, M/M, Mentions of Steam room, Mentions of orgy, Past Abuse, Post episode: Season 11 Ep 07, Rimming, Sexual Content, Talk of canon stuff through S11, Top Ian Gallagher/Bottom Mickey Milkovich, With Liberties because I'm that kind of girl, With Respect to boundaries, but nothing graphic, consent is cool, obviously, talk of rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29953038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_beating_heart/pseuds/Still_beating_heart
Summary: Let's talk about rimming, baby,Let's talk about Ian and Mick.Let's talk about all the good thingsAnd the bad things that could come from a lick.------------The five times they don't, and the one time they do.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 23
Kudos: 143





	Let's Talk About Rimming, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I get it, everyone has their own legitimate feelings about the orgy and the steam room. I don't want to hear about it. Not here, my friends. Not here. So the events of 11x7 are mentioned, but not in detail. And really, the major thing I took out of this episode was: Mickey needs to learn to love on his bum. And I'm in no way saying that everybody should like oral, or that everyone should even try it, or that it's realistic for every couple to enjoy it. I'm just saying in this particular scenario I want these two morons to figure out how to give and receive pleasure, and respectfully push back barriers and learn to heal past hurts that may have long reaching affects in their sex life. There's plenty of stuff for everyone to sort through about 11x7, but I'm mostly just talking about rimming here. So in the wise words of Salt-N-Peppa: "Those who think it's dirty, have a choice. Pick up the needle, press pause, or turn the radio off." Or in this case turn the device off :)
> 
> This is pretty porny. And porn is not my strong suit and it makes me weirdly nervous to post, but oh well. Also quick, dirty editing and as always not beta'd.

"So, uh, you wanna talk," Ian wonders when he walks in the bedroom after his shower. Mickey already sitting with his back against the wall, rolling a joint. Already showered and clean, and looking so edible, "about tonight?" he tosses the towel towards whatever is in the room that may or may not be the perfect receptacle for a wet towel.

"What about tonight?" his eyebrows dart up, eyes jumping to meet Ian's and then back down to the project at hand.

"You know," Ian sighs, sprawling out on his side in the tiny space left over for him alongside his husband's leg, "kind of a big deal."

"What is? Fucking each other with other people in the room? 'Cause not really. Ain't that much different than in prison, just more uh, on purpose," his face screws up like he knows there's a better word for that but he's tired and doesn't really give a shit anyway.

"If you're talking about that time in the shower," Ian trails off, getting distracted by his fingers crawling up the pale bony flat of Mickey's knee cap.

"Or that time in the cell. Or that other time in the showers. Or any fucking time we fucked in prison with the whole open bars fucking shit that anyone could just walk past and see us fucking."

"Yeah, well it wasn't like anyone was ever in the actual cell with us."

"Nah. But you can't tell me Cox never beat off to that shit."

Ian snickers, tracing his finger into the dip of his thigh, following the muscle line to the edge of his boxers. His dick is interested in going another round. It pretty much always is. He's got a hot husband and healthy sex drive, of course it is. He knows the difference between this and hypersexuality and that's the important part. Plus, he knows Mickey knows all the signs by now too and he'd call him out on it if it seemed like he was diving head first into a bout of mania. 

"The fuck you doin' Tough Guy?" Mickey's grumble pulls him out of his thoughts and back into the moment.

"Just testing your reactions," he tips his head towards where he knows Mickey's cock is starting to gain interest in this. A hand job early in the day, sucking off his husband while whoever that was gave him a few strokes before Mickey took over. There really wasn't that much hands-on during the orgy, neither of them really need that. It was just something they were both game for and how many opportunities does some gay kid from the Southside really get to participate in an orgy with a bunch of other gay dudes? Not many. And feel safe doing it? Even less. At the end of the day he goes home with Mickey and Mickey only and that's the only part that matters.

"The fuck you wanna talk about then?"

Ian removes the tray of paraphernalia from his lap, gets to his knees to slide between Mickey's legs in that perfect gap he leaves for Ian whenever he needs it. Wrapping his arms around his husband's hips to rest his chin on his thigh and mostly talking to his flat stomach and maybe his cock while he dips his fingers below the waistband of his boxers, "I wanna talk about rimming."

Mickey's fingers rise up to grind into his eyes, and Ian waits. He waits until Mickey has ground enough to see spots and then blinks them away before his eyes pop open really wide and his lips purse, eyebrows climbing to full murder mode, "really? This shit again? 'Cause we can go back and get whatever his fucking name was to bend over for you, you can eat his shithole 'til you're flossing with..."

Ian clears his throat very loudly to interrupt or at least cover whatever was still coming out of that dirty mouth, so he can fully ignore it, "I don't want to rim someone else. I want to rim you. And I want to talk about why you don't like it. Is it my technique or just the idea of it in general?"

There's a flash of that day on the couch and the glimmer in Mickey's eye as he offered his rosary to Ian only to have Ian shoot him down wondering what was in it for him. He knows now, he knows a lot more now than he did then and he knows exactly what's in it for him to provide pleasure instead of blatantly seeking his own. Since Mickey's pleasure is his pleasure and that's really the only reason he shot one off in the steam room earlier, watching Mickey's sweat-laden brow and his bitten lips as he leaned his head back and released his load. Just thinking about it has Ian's dick twitching against the mattress where he's still bare ass naked. 

"I mean, I realize that it's your asshole so it's kind of, you know, like maybe there should be warning for it so you can come to the party prepared," he grins.

"Yes Ian thank you. I know how to douche my asshole."

Ian can feel a dopey smile rising that always comes with the territory of getting Mickey to this level of annoyed. His hands have fallen to Ian's shoulders and are absently tapping fingers in a telltale of not wanting to talk about the things that Ian wants to talk about. But this is marriage. So, "is it one of those things, or is it another? Because I know how easy you come when I tickle your prostate with my fingers, and my fingers are so much rougher than my tongue."

Mickey might actually be blushing. His eyes have darted away and are now stuck on the wall somewhere behind Ian while he chews on his lip. Ian can tell he wants to say it, he wants to admit whatever it is that holds him back every time Ian suggests it. The times he does let him, it's like pulling teeth the way he lays there clearly uninterested and growing impatient quickly. 

"But if the issue is going tongue deep, it's understandable if you're concerned about..."

"Shit. Ian. I am concerned about shit. And your mouth. I am concerned about..."

"Douching Mickey. You know how to douche. I know it. You know it."

"The taste even with douching. What if it tastes like last night's dinner and you..."

"It won't. And there's this thing called flavored lube," he leans forward and buries his face in Mickey's groin with a groan, "I just want to rim you until you come. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

"This coming from a guy who bitched about me being on schedule? Every night at six o'clock right?" he mimics Ian's voice. 

Ian huffs out a laugh and watches as the puff of hot air travels through Mickey's thin boxers, he knows it's layering over his half-hard cock with the kind of heat that will only interest him further. It's an insecurity, Ian gets that. He has some of his own, just none of them in the bedroom so it's hard to find the reasons sometimes even if he can point most of Mickey's insecurities right back to Terry.

Ian leans forward and presses a kiss to Mickey’s hip bone. Mickey’s hands land on his head, one of them lazily stroking through his hair and the other falling to his jaw to tilt his face. Mickey’s never really been much for slowing it down and taking time, he’s never been able to get used to being worshiped in any way. And it’s not like Ian is exactly a Casanova himself, he’s also made his peace with his old relationships and he knows what he has with Mickey is incomparable. There is no one he has ever or will ever love the way he does Mickey. But if he can be grateful for any past relationships, then the one he is glad to have in the bag is Caleb. Not because he loved him or worshipped him, but he did learn how to slow it down. How to offer pleasure without penetration. Of course it helped to have been learning some anatomy during his EMT training and going a little above and beyond in his research a few times. 

His eyes rise up Mickey’s stomach, lingering on his own name on his chest before rising to meet his gaze. He looks calm and maybe a little thoughtful but Ian knows it’s never that easy with Mickey. He’s never going to just say the reason he’s insecure about something. 

It’s clear on his face that he’s done with that chatting portion of the evening, if not done with the entire day. So Ian brings himself to his knees and reaches for the tray he put aside, “when’s your next piss test?”

Mickey shrugs and rolls his eyes, “you really don’t think I got a fuckin’ way to pass a damn piss test that don’t actually involve my piss?”

Of course. Ian sighs, watching him as he sparks up the joint. They both know this, and there’s no use arguing. He’s not going to smoke. Not only for his next meeting with PO, but for his bipolar. He knows what he can and can’t do now and he’s not going to fuck this all up. And Mickey doesn’t offer either. It’s an occasional thing and they’ve had a pretty exceptional day, so Ian is not going to give him shit for wanting to wind down with a joint. 

He settles on his back on his side of the bed, watching Mickey shove the window up and at least air the room out, blowing smoke from the corner of his lip into the night’s air. 

He’s not going to push him to do anything he doesn’t like doing, or anything that makes him feel unnecessarily exposed, but goddamn it Ian liked rimming past partners even without feeling some overwhelming urge to pleasure them, he just really fucking wants Mickey to end up enjoying it so they can both enjoy it. Dropping it for tonight, he reaches out to caress the curve of Mickey’s asscheek through his boxers and tips his chin towards his dick when he catches his eye. His dick that is ready and waiting for some oral action from his husband to top this night off.

———————

So he decides if he’s going to get Mickey either into rimming, or at least talking about it then he needs to start slow. With a little extra attention to his balls before he sucks him off. And it’s so easy to dip down to his taint when he’s already at his ball level. Keeping his hands on his thighs or his belly to see when his muscles flex in the fight or flight response to the danger of his husband’s mouth dipping into his ass. Moving back up accordingly. Mickey’s been in enough horrible sexual scenarios he does not need to experience anything between them that makes him think back to that day.

Ian takes a deep breath when it rises in his own mind, darts his gaze up to meet Mickey’s eyes. Right now they're closed and his head is leaned back against the wall, but he wonders if some of this is just the possibility of the door opening while Ian’s face is buried in Mickey’s ass that has him hesitating.

He releases Mickey’s cock, trails kisses up his center and settles between his legs as Mickey’s eyes open slowly. He’s never really been all that into the foreplay regardless of how it looks, probably because the foreplay in his mind is just more opportunity to get caught. Even when they were running off to fuck in the store, the bleachers or at the ballfields because it was mildly more safe than either of their houses, there was still the fear of getting caught. By someone who would beat their asses for being queer. And what’s more queer than a dick in the ass? A tongue in the ass. 

His middle finger is already buried in Mickey’s ass and Mickey’s rolling his eyes giving him the ‘get on with it’ brows. 

“We have time Mick,” Ian reminds him quietly. 

“Time for what? Just get on me Gallagher,” he’s shifting his hips like he’s ready. 

Ian gets it, sort of. The stretch and burn that makes him feel alive, the adrenaline rush when Ian’s buried in him and they’re chasing nothing more than release. But the foreplay can be enjoyable. And it can prolong the actual sex. They have the space, they have the time. Sure, there’s plenty of noise down the hall and they really need to put a real door on their room with a lock and everything or just get their own damn place but it’s not like people walk in here without knocking. Franny probably would, but she’s down for the night. And if his siblings are dumb enough to do it, then they deserve to have that image branded into their brains for eternity. That’s not how Mickey would see it though.

Ian knows if he takes a time out to talk it over, he’ll just get crabby and even more likely to shut down. So he doesn’t talk it through, he covers Mickey’s mouth with his own. Effectively cutting off the verbal complaints while he takes some time to slide another finger passed his rim. Rubbing gently on his insides, it’s not like a prostate is some hidden gem that takes years to find. It’s as simple as turn your head and cough at the doctor’s office. Obviously, it shouldn’t feel like an exam when it’s foreplay and Ian knows that. Smoothing the pads of both fingers over that gland, small circles as he tangles his tongue with Mickey’s. He can feel Mickey’s cock getting jumpy where it’s pressed between them. 

Ian adjusts his knees to press into the backs of Mickey’s thighs. Propping them higher to deepen the access he has with his fingers, pressing them further open to give him more space to turn his wrist and slip sideways across his insides as he crooks his ring finger, and pinky to circle his rim. It gains him a grunt and choked off groan as Mickey’s head gets thrown back, effectively breaking their kiss.

It feels like he can breathe easier now, knowing Mickey is in the moment. He’s not thinking about someone blasting through the door. He’s not thinking about prison alarms going off. He takes some time to just watch his face, his eyes rolling beneath his lids and his lips pursed in a blissful circle, nostrils flaring as he takes a deep inhale. Ian feels it where his fingers are inside him. Crooking them to drag across his prostate again and watching the air leave Mickey’s chest. 

He leans into him now, down towards his heart to press a line of kisses over his name tattooed on his husband’s chest. Waiting until Mickey’s hands are grasping his head and pulling him back. His impatience rising. Ian smiles more to himself than to Mickey, and knows he’s pushed it enough for tonight. Tomorrow is another one. And judging by the look on Mickey’s face now it is time to get on him. 

————————

“If it’s the idea of my tongue actually being inside your ass, then I can just stick to the outside. Give your taint a whole lot of attention,” he offers one night when they’re just sitting next to each other, not doing anything sexual yet. 

Mickey grunts. 

Ian waits a beat or two and then puts his hand down on his thigh, “good talk.”

————————

Ian’s heart helpfully lodges itself in his throat the night that Mickey walks into the bedroom with nothing but his towel on, water still clinging to his smooth skin, and tosses a bottle of flavored lube at Ian.

“There you go cupcake, eat your heart out,” and drops the towel.

Ian’s eyes take in the extent of his body, wishing it was true that he really could eat his heart out. If he did that, he knows he’d push past Mickey’s comfort zone and they’d be back to ground zero. He jolts out of bed, gripping his husband’s hips to drag him up against his body. Grinding his hips while his hands slide over his asscheeks and fingers dip into his crack. Mickey’s smile is nearly a full blown grin, his eyes bright with want. Ian presses his cheeks open with the heels of his hands and dips index fingers against his rim. 

There’s enough give already that he’s sure Mickey not only douched but prepped himself some. Probably to take the edge off. That’s fine. He can work with that. 

He might get a little ahead of himself, shoving Mickey towards the bed to lean with his hands on the mattress and his ass exposed. He doesn’t resist but when Ian’s lips make contact with the base of his spine he jumps a little. Yeah, okay, this is probably a dumb position. Ian can still work this out. He steps out of his pants without losing the contact of his mouth on Mickey’s spine. 

When he closes his eyes a flash of the couch, the afghan, the sound of the door crashing open echos in his own head. He can only imagine what it does to Mickey whenever it appears in his memories. Ian takes a deep breath, moves his grip on Mickey’s pelvis, “lay down. On your back,” he thinks to add when Mickey’s knees meet the mattress.

Mickey’s cock isn’t fully hard yet, but Ian kind of feels like he’s chomping at the bit, ready at the start line, about to have a false start really, just by looking at Mickey’s body when he lays himself out on the bed. He’s wearing his false confidence expression, Ian can spot it from a mile away but he doesn’t call him out on it. Instead he settles between his knees, goes for his lips first to ease into the moment. Pull him back to the this exact circumstance. Where it is just them. They are in the safest place they could be. They are both here mentally and physically. He strokes his fingers through Mickey’s hair to hold his head at the angle he wants and explores his mouth. Part of him is tempted to tongue fuck his mouth and give him a preview of what he wants to do to his ass, but he’s pretty sure people only do that in cheesy porn or at frat parties. So he just kisses him, the way they’ve always kissed. With all the words they can’t say, or won’t say, or haven’t found a way to say yet.

It’s almost like he can hear it in the room inch by inch as Mickey relaxes against him. With every sigh and every inhale. With the blood rushing in Ian’s ears and the pulsing of his heart in every inch of his body. He’s pretty sure if Mickey’s body wasn’t rushing the same way, he’d be able to hear Ian’s in the stillness around them.

When his entire body feels lax beneath his traveling hands, he starts moving his mouth further down. Jaw, neck, chest, stomach. He doesn’t ignore that beautiful cock as he slides his body in between Mickey’s legs and settles his hips against the bed. Mickey’s feet automatically plant themselves on Ian’s back and his arms instinctively tuck under his thighs to draw them closer to his body. Ian finds his hands and presses his fingers between them. Giving Mickey not only a thing to grasp but also a thing to communicate with if he chooses. He wonders sometimes if they should use safe words, not because of BDSM, well not yet, maybe. But because of PTSD and the complicated past they share.

Mickey grips Ian’s fingers. Not in a worried grip. Ian rubs his thumbs back and forth, over top of every part of Mickey’s hands he can reach as he trails his tongue over the underside of Mickey’s cock, over the ridge of his balls and down to the soft skin of his taint. Mickey’s hand releases only long enough to press the lube bottle to Ian’s palm and get his arms in a more comfortable position around his legs, drawing them further to his chest giving Ian the access he needs. He loves the willingness he’s receiving right now, giving him the confidence that Mickey actually wants this, he wants to give it another try and let Ian give him attention. Let him take time and care. 

The scent of the lube is a little sickeningly sweet when Ian starts spreading it on his fingers and rubbing the curve of Mickey’s asscheeks, smearing it all over his skin. Being liberal in his movement to spread it over his crack, his asshole, his balls, and gripping his dick to give it a good crank. That is a lot of scent. It is not great. Shit. He should have bought the lube himself, Mickey and his damn sweet tooth probably got something he’d like instead, or just grabbed one without looking at the flavor. He lets his eyes wander far enough to read the label. Cupcake. Yeah, that is certainly cupcake alright.

He can do this though. He can totally do this. He flattens his tongue and the instant the lube hits his tastebuds he feels it forcing his face into something sour. And immediately Mickey is pulling away. 

“No,” he hears himself say past the gob of sickly sweet slime that’s on his tongue. Shit, oh shit, “it’s not you,” he can’t stop trying to rub his tongue off on the roof of his mouth. His cheeks sucking in and his eyes squinting, “it’s the lube,” his eyes are actually starting to water. Shit, shit, shit. He will never get Mickey over this. He will never convince him that it’s not him, “it’s not you!” 

Mickey is very easily untangling himself from under Ian and already stepping into his boxers by the time Ian locates something to drink in here to chase that flavor away. It’s beer. Of course it is, and it just makes it worse. Ian grabs the wet towel off the floor and makes a break for the bathroom to clean this shit out of his mouth. 

This is not good. Fuck. He rushes his stupid ass back to the bedroom hopefully before insecurity can settle in. 

Too late. Mickey is already under the covers and probably chewing his lip while he stares at the wall and pretends he can’t hear Ian, “it was the lube. Mick, I swear on everything I own and everything I don’t own and everyone else’s gods, and Monica’s grave that it was the lube. I should have been specific about flavors, or maybe we need to get some nice expensive shit for it to actually taste good. I just,” he slides into bed, on top of the covers, “fucked that up,” he inches closer to Mickey, and wraps one arm around his chest. When he doesn’t get kicked or elbowed or even grunted at, he takes the chance to wrestle the other one under his pillow and bring his body against his. Resting his chin on his shoulder to peek over his cheek, gauging the look on his face as more pissed off than embarrassed. So that’s good. Pissed off, Ian can deal with. 

“I mean, we don’t have to waste it. If you're still in the mood at all, I have ten fingers and a quick-to-get hard cock. We can put any or all of those to use.”

Mickey huffs out a sigh that shakes just a little, so Ian buries his face in his neck and breathes against him for a moment. 

“I’m like a fuckin’ oil slick Gallagher,” he eventually announces. Struggling with the sheet that Ian has pinned between them. He takes the hint and moves aside enough to let Mickey open the covers to give him access to his body. And if he keeps the blankets pinned around their waists, then yes it is because of the scent. Of the lube. 

———————

“Watermelon. Sugar-free,” Ian tosses it on the bed beside Mickey, taking his shirt off and plopping down beside where he’s got it in his hand already.

One eyebrow arched as he scans it over, then grunts, tosses it back at Ian and grumbles, “not tonight.”

“That’s fine. It’s just here. When, or if you decide to give it another go,” he backs up until his back is against the wall, his shoulder bumping Mickey’s. It’s been a long fucking day and he didn’t really expect anything, he never _expects_ anything, but he knows Mickey’s sex drive and his own so it’s usually just a given that they’ll fuck in some way, shape, or form every night.

Falling asleep with Mickey in his arms though, it doesn’t matter that they don’t bother with fucking. It only matters that they’re both here, they’ve both safe, and warm. Their bellies are full, they’re not sick, they’re together. That's a lot more than most people have. 

————————

It’s probably a combination of things that finally makes it work. 

Their own place, it’s not the nicest but neither of them were expecting a mansion. It’s theirs and the pipes might leak, they might even freeze in the winter. The paint might be peeling and the sink might be a little loose. Only one burner on the stove works and the carpet is stained but they can tear that up. 

Jobs that are secure. And getting more and more legit every day. A future that seems a little more certain every day. 

Getting Terry out of their hair, the responsibility and the guilt off their plates. If Mickey feels it necessary to have closure with the old man before he dies, well then that’s up to him. And he’s got time. If he wants it. 

Family relationships being stronger than they maybe ever where when they were all under one roof. Frank not being under foot. They can visit on their terms, or expect occasional drop-ins but they don’t have to wake up to Debbie yelling, or go to bed to Frank crashing around, or Tami and Lip arguing.

Friends, a group that’s getting a little bigger. Nobody that’ll ever take the place of each other, or their siblings. But acquaintances that they can stand long enough to grab a drink with or have a pool tournament with. Actual friends, not the kind they end up fucking.

“You know that shit about whatever happens when you’re not there,” Ian starts when they’re walking through the door after a night at the bar. A couple beers but nothing to get drunk off, just enough to lose the edge of inhibitions. 

Mickey turns towards him with a face full of the-fuck-you-talkin’-about?

“Having gay friends, and you know, fucking around behind your back.”

He’s silent for a minute, the expression not changing until he can sort through his memories and find, “you talkin’ about the orgy thing?”

“Yeah. Well, no, not specifically but what I had said about…”

“Is that a thing that’s back on the table? ‘Cause I don’t need the shit, but I ain’t gonna say no in the right situation.”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. That’s not the point. The point,” he steps out of his boots, kicks Mickey’s out of the way where he left them in the middle of the damn walkway. Taking him by the hips to pull him closer, “the point is that you know that’s not something I’d actually do, right? I only said that shit because I wanted to inspire you to get out and meet some people. It’s not like if I went out tomorrow with Adam and Steph, or Ryan and Jon that I’d go for…”

“I know you ain’t fuckin’ anybody else Gallagher,” his hand rises, stroking along Ian’s jaw and resting on the back of his head while he looks up at him, “it’s too much work fuckin’ other people,” he shrugs.

“What does that mean? You think I’ve lost my game or something? That it?” sliding his hands over to the small of his husband’s back to close whatever remaining space was between them.

Mickey’s smirk rises, tapping Ian’s cheek while he pulls himself out of his grip and walks away with a nonchalant, “give me a couple minutes and you can show me your full game Tough Guy,” there’s a sway to his hips that pulls a groan out of Ian’s throat and he doesn’t bother trying to pretend that he’s not following behind him like a lost puppy finally found.

He gives Mickey some time and space in the bathroom because he’s not an actual puppy. He uses the time to get the room cleaned up, turn on some music softly enough that it won’t set the speed but loud enough to break up any of the sex noises that might throw them both off. Those sex noises that always happen at the most inopportune time and make them both laugh when they’re having a moment. Not that laughing is prohibited, the more laughter the better. They’ve found some things out in the last year or so, they managed to celebrate their one-year anniversary without any hangups. The first year is always the hardest. Or something, it’s not like he’s ever done this before. But it seems like beginnings are usually the hardest part anyway so it makes sense it’d be that way with marriage.

He nearly lights a candle but Mickey’s standing in the doorway completely naked before he can go that far. 

“The fuck are your clothes still on for?” 

“Good question,” but he doesn’t bother taking them off. He’s got time and space to work with, and he’s fully intending on giving the foreplay his all. If Mickey wants his full game, he’s going to get it. Taking the steps over to his husband, shoving the door shut with one hand while he tugs Mickey’s hips with the other to drag him closer. The exterior door is locked, the bedroom door is just another layer to add between them and the real world. The only world that is going to matter tonight is between these four walls. He’s grinning by the time his lips meet Mickey’s, making the kiss a little awkward but he doesn’t care. Mickey puts that smile on his face, he should see it and feel it. 

His hands slide down his bare back, staying on the curve of his asscheeks as he sways a little from side to side in time with the music. Mickey’s fingers are taking hold of Ian’s shirt hem, pulling it up, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over. His gaze flits up to Ian’s with a light glimmer in their depths that makes Ian’s heart suspend itself in his chest. Leaning his forehead to Mickey’s for a deep breath while Mickey works at his belt and tugs his jeans down. 

Ian lets his hand slide down his asscheeks, rubs into the meat of his curves and dip into his crack. Tracing index fingers over his rim, getting the shudder of anticipation immediately. The tease is just a dry brushing of fingertips over him, up his crack, down to his balls. Back around his hips to tug at his cock as it gains interest. Ian’s already hard as fuck just thinking about what comes next, and what he wants to do, what he’s hoping Mickey will let him do. Not only let him do but enjoy the fuck out of. 

Mickey’s hands are working at dragging Ian’s boxers over his hips, his cock springing free of the fabric. He shuffles his legs enough to get the whole bundle of clothing to his ankles then steps out of them, moving towards the bed until Mickey’s calves are against the mattress. He nudges and guides, leaning over him when he leans back and trying like hell to keep the kisses going with one hand behind his head to keep him close while they maneuver down to the bed. 

Mickey backs up to lay his head on the pillow, his hands flat, fingers splayed on Ian’s shoulders, pulling him close. Chest to chest while he opens his legs for Ian to lie between. He lines up their pelvises to grind his cock against the length of Mickey’s, between their bellies. When his kisses track off to Mickey’s jaw, his ear, his neck; he feels one of Mickey’s hands release his shoulder to dig around in the drawer, his head turning to sort through his options. He drops the bottle of his choice beside his hip on the bed and lifts his hips to tilt back and forth under Ian, intensifying the friction of their dry cocks against each other. 

Ian retrieves the lube with the intention of slicking up their dicks, his breath catching when he’s met with the crisp scent of watermelon. Instead of using words he groans his approval against Mickey’s bare flesh. He’s gotten better at this, letting Ian explore a little more every time. 

He decided against proposing a safe word, and told Mickey to just tap out, a language he can understand easily, when he goes too far. And yeah, it can get confusing when there’s already a lot of grasping, and clenching of hands on skin, and tapping of heels on thighs or asscheeks or lower back. But Ian pays attention when he’s mouthing around his ass, he pays attention to that place on his shoulder, the target that they agreed on. If Mickey taps twice, then it’s time to pull back, go back to agreed upon territory. It’s not that hard to focus on that tap, and it’s not hard to take note of when he starts to tense up anyway. 

Rubbing his hands up and down the backs of Mickey’s thighs, dipping further and further towards his ass every time he makes a pass. Mickey is tilting his pelvis in time to Ian’s strokes, rhythmic motions with the cocks between them. Until Ian pulls away, trailing open mouthed kisses along his chest, stomach, finding his cock and sucking it down his throat. Mickey’s hands land on Ian’s head, a grunted moan escapes him when Ian’s fingers trace along the curve of his ass, dipping between his cheeks and playing over his taint. He slips a lubed up finger past his rim easily, taking his cock to the base while Mickey stills his hips. 

He rises off his cock, only to turn his head and slide his lips sideways down the length of his shaft. A second finger joins the first and Mickey arches his back at the intrusion. Ian strokes over his prostate, small circles to relax him. Kisses moving along his groin, over his balls. Mickey’s hands move to thighs, pulling them towards his chest without a word, giving Ian the access to do this thing right. He forces himself not to smile, knowing that Mickey is in the moment and relaxed enough to maybe pull this off. 

His FUCK U-UP fingers grasping at his thighs, pressing fingertips into flesh, Ian kisses around them as he slips a third finger inside of him and twists his wrist. Mickey’s lips part, a beautiful moan exiting that he probably would have stifled for the bulk of their relationship. 

His free hand reaches through his legs to grasp at his cock, rock hard with the air cooling the spit that’s drying on it. Ian removes his hand to drizzle some more lube into his right palm, spreading it with his left fingers to warm it a bit and gather some to slick up his cock. Working his ring finger free of his ass, tucking it alongside his middle with bent knuckles to circle his rim. Ian doesn’t stifle the grin this time when he moans. He’s sure Mickey is far enough gone by now that his eyes are pressed shut and rolled back and he has no idea that Ian is grinning like a dope while he watches his hand laying down some gentle foundation work. 

Fingers wrapped around his cock again, feeling it twitch in his hand when he glances across his prostate again with sweeping motions. He chances the forward movement with his mouth, making contact with the inner thighs on either side, layering kisses over each one in the direction of his taint, taking notice of any tension that might rise. None does. So he carries on. Butterflies have invaded his chest, making him feel a little lightheaded knowing this is going to happen. Mickey is about to let Ian rim him without getting tense and if Ian doesn’t fuck it up he’s not going to tap out. 

Flattening his tongue to ride the ridge over his balls, down his taint then back up. Arcing his fingers, turning his wrist to give him more space on his canvas. It would be easier if Mickey was on hands and knees, but one step at a time. He tugs just slightly with his fingers, pulling down to let his tongue wander the upperside of his rim. Still no tap. Drawing back to track kisses out far enough to peer over the length of his body, gaging his comfort level by the grip on his thighs and the look on his face. Ian grins when he sees nothing but pure bliss. Mouth fallen open, eyes closed lightly, his breath getting heavy. He watches the reverberation through his body as he works his fingers again. Mickey tips his pelvis, taking the fingers deeper and then arches his back like he can’t decide if he wants to ride Ian’s fingers or let him go back in with his mouth.

Ian turns his head to mouth along his inner thighs, not leaving marks but sucking some pressure points into his muscle and tendons as he goes. Withdrawing his fingers to a muttered protest, he doesn’t give Mickey the time to fully vocalize his complaint before he’s diving in with his face. Keeping his lips closed at first. Just rubbing against his crack, kissing along his taint, taking his pelvis in his hands to rock him. Gathering friction with his face against Mickey’s ass. He grunts with it and Ian moves his hands to the back of his thighs, giving him a chance to let go, to have the option of tapping out. His hands only move up, one of them covering Ian’s hand and the other moving higher to his knee, folding himself further in half. 

Ian hums his approval against his ass and darts his tongue out to trace his rim. Mickey moans again, this time completely unabashed and resonant. So Ian does it again, in the other direction. It’s practically a whine now. Mouthing at his taint to give him a minute, sucking slight pressure and moving back down. Tongue flat against the entirety of his hole as he uses his hands to guide Mickey’s pelvis in an up and down, back and forth drag. Mickey is panting and swearing somewhere in Ian’s subconscious, his focus still enough on his tap point, to know it hasn’t happened. Ian’s own dick nearly forgotten until it twitches out a reminder, he thrusts a few times against the bed, giving himself a little pressure but not enough to come as he darts his tongue out, point of it dipping just a tiny bit inside of Mickey before flattening it again and licking over him, up to his balls, sucking his sack long enough to bring his hand back down to press fingers through. He doesn’t want to overwhelm him. Or make him come yet. 

Judging by the way Mickey is arching and bucking, he’s ready for more.

Ian can read the body of Mickey at this point, after this many years. So he knows it’s time to quit holding back. He ducks his head, pushing his face against his ass until his nose is smashed against his taint and his tongue is pressing through that ring of muscle. Mickey’s back arches and the moan that exits his mouth and floats down around Ian’s ears has his dick twitching so hard he’s nearly certain he could come from this. He braces his hands on either side, holding him open and pressing deeper with his tongue. Tucking the tips of his thumbs alongside his tongue and pulling slowly, giving himself more space to work with. Mickey’s entire body has gone taut but there has been no tapping. Ian shifts his gaze to watch the parts he can see, his belly quivering with pleasure, his cock jumpy against it. He is definitely going to make Mickey come from this. Even if it takes him all night. He flicks his tongue along the ridge inside him and Mickey’s body seems to melt towards his shoulder blades, while his abs do a move that would get him plenty of attention on a stripper stage. 

Ian’s grip is sure on his ass, pushing his hips towards his body, sure enough that Mickey releases his grip on his knees and lets his legs fall open. His arms both dropping, one to land across his face and the other to tug at Ian’s hair. Nowhere near his shoulder though. Ian flicks his tongue again, knowing that bundle of sensitive nerves is right at the tip of it. Mickey’s body tenses, tightening around Ian’s thumbs and tongue, his balls going tight against his body. 

Ian would be grinning again if he could, knowing now that this will not take long. He draws back to make the tease last a little longer. Mickey’s hand clamping down on the back of his head to try steering him deeper. Not enough pressure to force anything, just enough pressure to make his intentions known. Ian draws away anyway, taking a moment to mouth at his taint again while he dips his thumbs in and out, loosening that muscle even further.

There’s a glaze of sweat over Mickey’s body that Ian can taste through the lube and he’s not going to say anything to Mickey, but he loves that taste. The salt and tang of him. He moves his weight forward to get a lick up the length of his cock, taking the precum off the tip of it to mix the flavors. 

He releases his grip to give Mickey’s hips a rest. Rubbing hands up and down his thighs while he leaves him empty for a moment. Kissing along his groin, listening to the breathing rhythm of his husband for any clues he wasn’t picking up on while he was focused on the task at hand. There are no signs whatsoever of this being too much, or too intimate, or something Mickey wants to run from. He stifles his smile against the soft inner thigh as he presses his legs towards his chest again. Mickey is the most pliant Ian has ever seen him. It’s incredible. 

He works his way back into his heat, slipping fingers in and out a few times to spread more lube around inside him. This time using index fingers to hold him open to make space for his tongue. He flattens, rubs along the outside, then dips in. Pulls out, sucks along his taint. Rolls across his prostate with his fingertips, getting him back to the edge of orgasm. Pulls his fingers back to hold him open and presses his tongue through. It is one, two, three, four flicks of his tongue and then Mickey’s entire body is spasming against him, around him, and under him. 

The choked off moan, the hands clamping down on Ian’s wrist and his forearm. His legs tensing in a ripple, his clenching and releasing. It’s a high better than any manic, drug-induced, or otherwise high Ian has ever felt. He closes his eyes to let his other senses get the full blast experience of this. His ears picking up on another moan, his tongue still tracing along the internal ridges of his husband, his fingers on the sensitive stretched skin of his rim. 

Mickey’s hand comes down on his forehead, pushing him out, and away. Ian peers over the length of his muscled body, under the dim lights of their bedroom. His head lifted, face flushed, eyes foggy with bliss and mild shock. 

“Holy fuck Gallagher,” his voice is harsh from panting and moaning. Broken and raspy that does things to Ian’s forgotten cock.

Ian feels a dopey grin rising, just as Mickey is pushing him back down towards his ass.

“Full game Gallagher. I could go all night,” as he’s steering Ian’s head back to where it was. A request or a demand that Ian has no desire to turn down. Not now and probably not ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out, knocking another trope out of the park. Or off my list anyway. The 5+1 things was kind of a second thought when I realized it added up :) And I keep singing Salt-n-Peppa in my head.
> 
> Thanks friends :)


End file.
